Fallen
by Demus
Summary: Commodore Norrington- a man so strong, so firm in his beliefs, so steadfast in his duties that he could never be broken, could never fall. Or could he? A tale of torture, loss, warmth, blood, love, hate, hope and despair. Slash in later chapters.
1. Strong and Steadfast

This will be quite a dark fic for Commodore Norrington. If blood, rape or torture, easily upset you, press the back button- do not flame me. You have been warned.

Dedicated to LadyBush- the greatest friend I have ever had. To our continued love, honey!

Disclaimer: I do not own Pirates of the Caribbean, but Rayark (who will be met later) is mine. Unfortunately.

* * *

Commodore James Richard Norrington stood on the deck of the _Dauntless_ in a thunderous mood. Not only had they not seen any sign of the damned _Black Pearl_ for weeks, they had had no luck rooting out any other pirate scum. It seemed that the 'Pirate Hunter' was lax in his duties.

Mentally he berated himself, ignoring the concerned gaze of his second lieutenant. His obsessive desire to capture Sparrow was causing him to be inattentive to his duty as protector of Port Royal. This chase had already cost him the _Interceptor_, and he had been distressed at the loss of such a fine ship. However, the Admiralty (with some coaxing from Governor Swan, no doubt) had not penalised him for it, as perhaps they should have. Instead, they had supplied him with a brig equal to the _Interceptor_ in speed and manoeuvrability. _HMS Phoenix_ was a beauty, no doubt. And the ability to appreciate her fine lines and the superb seamanship of her crew somewhat lessened the pain of the loss of the _Interceptor._

So once again he was on the high seas, once again the Scourge of Piracy in the Caribbean. This dubious title was another fancy name concocted for him by terrified pirates who'd never seen his face, only the results of his work. He allowed himself a small rare smile. The power of reputation was an awe-inspiring thing indeed. Sudden Stop Norrington, the last face you see before the golden gates and the Lord. That alone was enough to cause a white flag to be run up by ships sighting the mighty _Dauntless_ bearing down on them.

And yet… this morale-boosting reputation notwithstanding, with no action for some time, his men were restless. If they didn't chance upon an enemy vessel soon, he might have a rebellion on his hands. His youth (and to some eyes, inexperience) despite his practically flawless seamanship caused enough problems when demanding the proper respect from his men. Any sign of a flaw, any hint of indecision, any inkling that there were problems with his command would see him instantly lose the discipline that was so fundamental on a ship of His Majesty's Navy.

Norrington's smile faded. Goddamn Sparrow! The wily pirate always seemed able to second-guess him. He grudgingly acknowledged to himself the man's seafaring skills. He was a worthy adversary, but Norrington's patience was running thin. In their next encounter, a conclusive end must be drawn to their desperate struggle. Who was the better sailor? Who would triumph? Despite his confidence, that question needled him. Such a long chase, such a long hunt. Perhaps its conclusion was one battle he was shying away from?

His reverie was broken by the approach of First Lieutenant Gillette. The younger man touched the brim of his hat in a salute and made his report. "A sail, sir. Two points off the larboard bow."

Norrington nodded as he pulled out his glass. "Thank you Mr Gillette." He looked in the direction Gillette indicated and smiled a thin predatory smile as he saw the familiar sight of a pirate ship, skulking about in search of prey. His searching eyes took in the scarlet flag with a motif of two black scimitars crossed over a grinning black Death skull. "By God, Rayark!" he exclaimed. Captain Rayark was one of the most feared pirates in the Caribbean. His was a name that not even a hardened villain would utter in the dead of night- some said he was the Devil on Earth. And he was within Norrington's clutches.

Norrington turned to Gillette, whose eager face betrayed his anticipation of Norrington's next words. "Beat to quarters!"

Gillette's eyes were alight with battle- fire. "Aye aye, sir!"

* * *

This is just a taster, the actual fic will take quite a while to write- this is a new venture for me. Please be patient! Also, apologies for any mistakes made with nautical language.


	2. Found

Firstly, I would like to say a huge thank you to everyone who has supported this idea: Raphe1, ellennar, zimo, heavenxleigh, banana flavoured dragon, Pirate Fan 101, Audrey, Katt9966 and Jackie. Secondly, I would like to repeat my previous warning- this fic is going to take a long time to write. Chapter three will be tricky, so apologies in advance. Thirdly, the rating of the story goes up to R next chapter. This is because there are some gritty details in this chapter and the next one will, in all likelihood, be worse. Thank you.

Dedicated to LadyBush, my friend and confidant. Also the only person I can play Top Trumps snap with for four hours straight.

Disclaimer: I do not own Pirates of the Caribbean.

* * *

Jack Sparrow was in a good mood. The Pearl was running a smooth and fine as ever, his crew was happily fighting over a horde of plunder, and he had just re-stocked his rum supply. He leaned against the helm, smiling a golden smile at just how right things were with the world.

A voice interrupted his reverie. "Cap'n Sparrow."

He looked across at Ana-Maria and grinned, waving a lazy hand at her. "Yes, m'darling?" he said, still grinning like a fool.

The dark-skinned pirate woman pointed. "There. Three ships. One flying the crossed sabres."

Jack's happy mood dissipated. Not him. Not now. Not after what had happened. "Have we been sighted?"

"Aye, Cap'n. They're bearing down on us. What should we do?"

The pirate captain sighed, trying to contain his slowly mounting anger and dread. "Bastard'll be wanting a word. No use running- the _Pearl_'s quick, but 'e knows these waters better than I. He'd catch us easy. Let 'im say 'is piece and be gone."

"Aye aye."

The ships, one a big man-of-war, one a swift-looking brig, the other smaller than the warship but just as menacing, drew up alongside, neatly trapping the _Pearl_ between them. Jack strode to the larboard railing as the third ship's captain walked to the side of his ship, the _Blood Sabre_. "Ahoy, the _Pearl_! Won't you join me, Jack?"

Jack pasted an easy relaxed smile on his face and waved lazily at the other pirate. "An' why would I be wantin' to do that, pray?" he said, his tone as light as a silk veil concealing a sword-point.

A genial chuckle met his ears. "Well Jack, me old matey, it would seem that ye have no choice. I won't be keepin' you long- I have a proposition for you. And you're certainly in no position to refuse such an old friend. Or had you forgotten, Jack?" The poison-dripped honey tone was just as casual as Jack's was. It conjured up memories that Jack instinctively shied away from, beat back into a corner, pushed far away into the deep recesses of his mind. Old friend, indeed.

Jack sighed. He really had no choice- though the man was loathsome, their history was…something that could not be dismissed. He nodded at Ana Maria to take the helm. He surreptitiously checked his sabre and guns were firmly attached to his belt, then he rope-swung across to the deck of the other ship, nimbly landing in front of the man who had hailed, swaying slightly to catch his balance. He looked up into the face of his temporary host.

Sebastian Rayark. One of the most evil men to ever have been spawned by the gates of Hell. A demon straight from Hades- he was huge, some six feet and seven inches. Possibly in his late fifties, he had an unpleasant square face, pock-marked from some childhood disease. He dressed in luxurious velvets and silks, but the rich materials seemed faded, as is they were decaying on his form. His blue eyes were pallid and watery like those of a dead thing and rank greasy black hair was plastered close to his face, mercifully obscured by a hat to rival even Barbossa's.

Jack inwardly shuddered distastefully as he studied the other pirate. Rayark grinned, revealing surprisingly white, healthy teeth- the only alive-looking things to be seen on his dark form. "Captain Sparrow," he leered, bowing mock-politely. His pale dead eyes raked insultingly up and down Jack's form. "You haven't changed a bit, Jack. Still young and limber..."

Jack tried to repress a second surge of memory, forcing himself to make a quick mock-courteous bow. "Captain Rayark," he replied, in kind.

"Ah ah ah!" Rayark said, waving a finger disapprovingly. "Commodore Rayark, if ye please." He gestured to the warship and the brig that were barely non-threatening presences next to Jack's _Pearl_. "Courtesy of His Majesty's Navy. Beautiful girls, are they not?"

Jack stared at the ships, especially the man-of-war. She seemed…somehow familiar. He shook his head. "So to what do I owe this discourteous invasion of my time?"

'Commodore' Rayark grinned unpleasantly. "No need to be so touchy Jack. I have something that might interest you- a special sort of treasure, you could say."

Jack's curiosity was aroused instantly. "What treasure?"

Rayark chuckled, enjoying his control of the conversation. He had always loved control. "Follow me." The heavily built man turned and began to stride along the deck to his cabin. Jack followed, wondering what game Rayark was playing, breaking into an almost run to keep up. Rayark halted at the door and selected a heavy iron key from the clinking mass attached to his breeches. Jack frowned- he disapproved of extravagant displays of security. For one thing, it made sneaking into a place and liberating the owner of anything shiny very difficult.

With a grating squeal the lock snapped open. Rayark discarded it and pushed the door open, bowing mockingly to Jack and gesturing for him to enter. The shorter man did so cautiously, wary for some sort of attack. When none came, he relaxed and scanned the room. Heavy drapes covered most of the windows, plunging the surprisingly spacious cabin into semi-darkness. Even so, Jack's magpie eyes quickly picked out the hundreds of glinting pretties carelessly strewn about the room. He was mentally mapping their positions when he noticed something big, dark and still in the far corner, near the bed. He strained his eyes to peer at it and then twisted to cast a questioning gaze on Rayark.

The other pirate's horrible grin widened and he strode to the windows, sweeping the drapes away. Blinking at the sudden light, Jack turned back to the shape in the corner. And gasped in shock.

The pitiful sight of a prisoner chained and broken met him. The man was young, tall and thin- thin through starvation no doubt, gaunt was a better word. He seemed to be naturally quite well-built- in normal circumstances he would be lithe and strong, with a strange grace to his form, Jack mused. The tattered remnants of an abused Naval uniform hung on him- he was an officer from the look of him. He had flinched away as the bright light struck his form, burying his face in his manacled hands, a tangled mess of shoulder length chocolate brown hair falling forwards over the irons. More manacles were locked around his ankles, chaining him to the wall.

The man's position was stiff and he held himself awkwardly in the confined space. Jack wasn't surprised- Rayark's reputation for beating and abusing his captives to the point of death and keeping them barely alive in torment was well founded. Jack's golden-brown fingers absently traced a path down his left side. He knew about that reputation first-hand. But that was past. This was present, and this poor wretch looked like favourite- bloodstains covered the grimy rags and what could be seen of the pale skin was bruised and broken.

Rayark walked over to the tortured creature and drew his sword, placing the tip under the man's chin. He dug the sharp edge of the dangerous blade into the flesh and jerked it up cruelly, forcing the man to lift his head. Jack found himself staring at a very familiar face, made strangely unfamiliar by a lack of emotion other than pain and fear. He gazed into eyes that used to be a ocean's turmoil of stormy green and grey and blue, now devoid of the usual flame of life within. "Norrington?" he whispered, taking a step back from that hopeless stare, the stare of a cornered animal.

"Yes," Rayark smirked as blood trickled from the new wound, pulling his sword away and watching with glee as the once-proud man slumped back into the corner and hid his face again. "He lost everything he had against me, and now he is mine. How the mighty are fallen," he crowed, aiming a kick at the unresisting form and cackling viciously when the broken Commodore made a pathetic attempt to twist away, crying out in pain.

Jack just stared. What had this demon done to him?

* * *

Sorry about the cliffy. Please be patient in waiting for Chp3, my readers, and thank you once again. 


	3. Taken at Risk

I HATE WRITER'S BLOCK! DIE! KILL! BURN! ARGH!

Now that that is over with, I would like to apologise to my long-suffering readers. Fallen is going badly, to say the least, and I have had to put it on hold. Please be patient with me- plot difficulties have developed and WILL NOT GO AWAY!!!

Thank you to those who reviewed the last chapter: Oneiriad, Kat9966, LadyBush, ellennar, Gnat Girl, Kawai Thief Kitsune, BlackJackSilver, zimo, elfgirl, Angela, cryptic storm and tricky.

Dedication: LadyBush, my favourite cuddle slut.

Disclaimer: I do not own PotC

* * *

"So Jack, do you like my little surprise?" Rayark asked, turning from Norrington with another vicious kick and grinning at the other pirate.

Jack shook himself and forced his eyes away from the pitiful sight. He compelled himself to smile a satisfied smirk. "Bloody Naval bastard deserves ten times worse, mate, believe me. But I'm curious," here he leaned towards Rayark, his eyebrows raised in question. "Why go through the trouble to find me and show me?"

Rayark cackled. "Simple Jack- the pleasure to be had with a proud man is breaking him. And I've broken this sorry whoreson, broken him so hard and so sharp, he ain't ever going to recover. And as pretty a toy as he is," Rayark winked at Jack and suddenly lunged down to grab Norrington's thick brown hair, yanking the man's head back viciously. Jack winced, but Norrington gave no reaction, other than a few solitary tears leaking from empty eyes. "He don't react so much as he used to. Where's the fun to be had, Jack? Where's the fun in a slave that don't squeal?" Rayark released Norrington, who slumped back into his former position.

"And?" Jack ignored the sick feeling growing in his guts at the conditions around him.

"You want him Jack? It'll cost you." Once again, those pallid eyes swept up Jack's form. "A few more hours of your time. None of my crew are quite as intriguing as you. And don't you want to renew an old…friendship?"

"An…old f-friendship?" Jack was momentarily stunned- could this evil man be suggesting…that in trade for a human life? And dare he risk such a thing? He glanced down at the limp form of Norrington. Could he, Jack Sparrow, really leave another person in a place like this? To a fate that kept you on the brink of death as a nobody, a nameless thing whimpering in the dead of night? No. No, he couldn't. But the price to be paid…

Rayark watched him, his head cocked on one side, that malicious smile still on his face. "Well Jack?"

Jack gulped and walked over to the inert form of the ex-Naval officer, pretending to consider the proposal seriously in order to buy more time. He knelt in front of the other man and placed a gentle hand under his chin, lifting his face to stare into blank eyes. He sighed to himself as he saw only fear. If he couldn't be redeemed…but wait- there was something deep in those eyes. Sparks, a fire not quite dead, still a glowing ember waiting to be rekindled. There was still a person in that battered shell. He would have to.

"All right, Sebastian. It's a deal!" Jack exclaimed, releasing Norrington's head and standing, brushing his hands off in mock disgust. Rayark smirked. And opened his mouth to speak. Jack interrupted, waving an admonitory finger. "Ah-ah-ah! I 'ave to tell me crew, don't I?"

Before Rayark could react he swaggered his way out of the cabin, mustering all the bravado he could for the ordeal ahead. He strode to the railing, ignoring the looks he was getting from Rayark's crews and hailed the _Pearl_. "Ahoy, Ana-Maria!"

The dark-skinned she-pirate came into view and returned the hail.

"I'm taking me ease 'ere for the evening. You're in charge- now send over me special brew!" Jack winked and gesticulated wildly, hoping his second-in-command would get the not-so-subtle hint. She did.

Ana-Maria disappeared for a few moments and, when she re-appeared, lobbed and small rounded bottle at him. He deftly caught it and raised in salute at her, winking. "Keep on yer toes, luv. I'll not be long." He hoped she would read the message in his words- it was vital that she did. He grinned at her again, flashing his gold teeth and turned back to Rayark, gesturing towards the cabin. "Shall we?"

Rayark returned the grin. "We shall."

An hour passed, slowly, wearily. Jack was on edge, trying to seem his normal flirtatious self for the evil man who dominated the cabin. Rayark was throwing bottles of rum down his neck, keeping his dead eyes on Jack almost constantly, turning occasionally to spit or kick out at Norrington's still form or yelling at the crew members who came in periodically to bring trays of food or more rum.

In normal circumstances, Jack would have been joining his 'friend' Sebastian, but he had to keep a reasonably clear head for what would happen tonight. Rayark was now slumped in his chair, almost insensible, oblivious to the fact that Jack was no longer drinking or even pretending to drink. The pirate 'commodore' was attempting to tell stories of his bravery and skill, often with some sort of outstanding sexual achievement- he was failing miserably at his own perverted way of seducing his companion. Jack felt sick, every mention of Rayark's 'sexual prowess' brought back horrible, dark memories. Did Rayark know the power he still held?

He could stand it no longer. Deciding the other was suitably inebriated, he uncorked the small bottle resting in his pocket and tipped into a tankard, topping it up with rum. "Here y'are matey. Have a swig o' this- me own recipe, yer know."

Rayark laughed uproariously at this. "Secret recipe, Jack? Ain't rum goo' 'nuff fer you? Nah, you wuzz ever picky," he slurred, reaching out for the tankard. Jack held his breath it was downed in one go. Rayark smacked his lips as he slammed the mug down on the table. Norrington flinched at the loud noise and Rayark laughed again, picking up the tankard and hurling it at him. "Don' like tha', yer lily-liv'd dog!" he yelled.

Jack winced as the object struck, averting his eyes and wishing the man would cry out. But he didn't. Rayark smirked and turned back to Jack, his drooping eyes showing the drug was beginning to take effect. "C'mon then Jack, let's 'ave yer," he crooned, reaching out a filthy hand to paw at Jack's coat.

The golden-toothed pirate shuddered with revulsion but allowed the touch, smiling beguilingly. "I thought you'd never get round to this, mate," he replied, standing and pulling the tall pirate with him.

Rayark licked his lips obscenely, then began to pull at the coat. Jack gasped involuntarily as foul breath ghosted across his throat, praying the drug would finish its work quickly. Rayark, having removed the coat and now more than a little impatient, ripped off the grubby shirt. Jack tried to back away a little, but the back of his knees collided with the bed and he fell backwards with a yelp of surprise. The other pirate soon clambered on top of him, settling himself over Jack, who tried to squirm away, breathing rapidly with fear and shock, beginning to panic as slithering hands began to explore his chest, rediscovering him, claiming him again. Rayark groaned with pleasure at the feel of Jack's lithe from writhed underneath him desperately, trying to escape his clutches. He leaned down to whisper in Jack's ear. "Thought I said, yer can't 'sape."

Jack's eyes widened and his struggles lessened as a long-forgotten feeling of helplessness and dread washed over him. His movements completely stilled as Rayark moved in to kiss him. The lips touched his, then the huge body on top of him relaxed and Rayark slumped, his eyes closing as he lapsed into unconsciousness.

Jack remained still for a moment, then heaved the form off of him and leapt off the bed. He backed away from it, grabbing his shirt and coat, pulling them on and scrubbing at himself with shaking hands, trying to rid himself of the unclean feeling of unwanted hands stroking his flesh. Suddenly remembering his purpose, he shook himself and moved back to the bed. He knelt in front of Norrington, once again raising the other man's head to look into his eyes. "Don't worry," he whispered, as softly as he could. "I won't hurt you."

The eyes were uncomprehending, scared and vulnerable, but the man allowed Jack to take his arms to examine what bound him. Heavy manacles were fastened to his wrists and ankles, made to immobilise as well as imprison. He studied them carefully. They were strange in design- heavy chains were slung through a great iron ring nailed to the wall and linked the manacles by passing through rings attached to the iron cuffs. Jack pulled a lockpick out of his pocket and prepared to set to work. The locks on the manacles themselves were too intricate to be pick simply, so it would be the padlocks that held the chains he would have to work on.

Quickly and silently, Jack unlocked each padlock, carefully placing them on the floor so they wouldn't make a noise. On the bed, Rayark snorted and turned over, mumbling a little in his sleep. Finally the chains were loosed and Jack was able to pull the links through the rings on the cuffs. Norrington looked confused as the hefty weight that imprisoned him lightened, and he moved as if in a daze when Jack urged him up onto unsteady legs. He kept his head turned away from Jack and his back hunched, his shoulders curled against some agony. The back of his ragged shirt was covered with blood and filth. Jack winced when he caught sight of it and looked away. He glanced at the inert form on the bed- no danger there. But how to get to the _Pearl_?

Jack stood for a moment in indecision, then walked to the door and opened it a fraction, peering out. Rayark's crew was lounging on the deck of the _Sabre_ obviously expecting their tyrant captain to be busy for some time. He paused for a moment, thinking hard, then grabbed Norrington's arm and began to haul him out of the cabin roughly, hating himself as he did so. As he'd thought, no one challenged him- they obviously knew what was going on. They'd heard of the deal. He made his way to the railing, tugging the taller man after him. The Commodore was looking around, confused, his shoulders still hunched defensively. His eyes were fearful and he flinched whenever a sudden movement was made near him.

Jack peered down to see a jolly boat containing some of his men. He pushed Norrington into position and growled in his ear, "Climb." The Naval man did as he was told, still uncomprehending. Jack watched him descend and followed quickly. They returned to the _Pearl_ with all haste and Jack hurried his 'prisoner' to his cabin. Once inside, he released him. Norrington looked around at the cabin with its simple décor, staring at the huge bookcases that surrounded it and the ornate writing desk with its amassed papers. Jack watched as the tall man caught sight of the lavish bed. He cursed as green eyes widened and Norrington dove towards a corner as far away as possible, curling up around himself and hiding his head from view.

Jack watched him for a split-second longer, then turned and left the cabin, barking out hasty orders to his crew. Rayark would have no memory of what had or hadn't happened in his cabin- with any luck he would believe that he had had his filthy wishes fulfilled and that Jack had slunk away in shame afterwards. He would not ask his crew- Rayark had never had any faith in the crew of the _Sabre,_ why should he have faith in the crews of his two newly acquired vessels?

As the _Pearl_ began its quick departure, Jack strode to the stern to gaze at the three ships. The man-o'-war still filled him with a niggling sense of familiarity. He suddenly felt a surge of emotions flow through him, a wooden voice screaming inside him. _Free me!_

He put a hand to his head and closed his eyes tight. What the-? Ignoring it, he strode off down the deck, wondering what he had got himself in for. Could Norrington be saved? Could he put together the broken pieces of a soul shattered?

* * *

Sorry, crappy chapter after long wait. Please don't kill me. 


	4. Scarred

Thank you so much, my lovely patient reviewers! My gratitude goes to you all: Oneiriad, BlackJackSilver, spirals, Selesterile, Kawai Thief Kitsune, Katt, Akiko Keeper of Sheep, ellennar, elfgirl, Frank E, LadyBush and Lady Lorax. Love you all!

Disclaimer: I do not own PotC

Oh, and for those of you who were feeling safe, Rayark will be back. Yes he will. Mwahahahaha.

* * *

Jack was sat in the rigging thinking. They were safe, far away from the threat of Rayark. The crew, relaxed and happy, were content to lazily cruise the beautiful Caribbean waters with no particular destination in mind. That would not last, but Jack wasn't thinking of that. The man in his cabin occupied his thoughts.

He needed to get a good look at the wounds that covered Norrington's body in order to clean them and check for infection. Clearly Norrington's mistrust and fear of Jack would not allow the pirate to get anywhere near them, especially as the treatment would be an agonising one. The pirate captain rubbed his eyes, careful to avoid smudging his kohl, and nodded. It would have to be his least favourite course of action. He swiftly clambered down the ropes that were as familiar as the back of his hands and strode across the deck, signalling to Anamaria to follow him. He went below and made his way to the uninhabited doctor's quarters. He began to rummage in the cupboards, pulling out bottles of murky liquid and mixing them together.

Anamaria stood in the doorway, watching him work. "You sure 'bout this, Cap'n?"

Jack paused. "I can't stand seein' another in pain due to Rayark. You know that, luv. An' Norrington needs some proper care. I've no alternative," Jack turned to the feisty she-pirate. There was wetness glimmering in his eyes. "God, I wish I did. I 'ate to do this to 'im. Even if 'e is just a Naval bastard."

Anamaria came forwards and awkwardly patted his arm, a foreign gesture to her. "Trust me, Jack, don't get close. 'E probably won't survive anyways. Not with all that muck in his wounds."

"I know." With those curt words, Jack straightened and poured his mixture into a wooden beaker, walking out of the small medical room to find a barrel of fresh water. He topped up the beaker and carried it to his cabin, aware that Anamaria followed him carrying cloths and salves from the doctor's quarters.

Quietly, he entered and signalled the she-pirate to stay outside. He closed the door behind him and turned to the far corner of the room. As he'd expected, the tall man was still curled up where Jack had left him, still with the heavy iron manacles attached to his wrists and ankles. Slowly, deliberately, Jack placed the beaker of drugged water in the centre of the floor and backed away, aware of Norrington's wary gaze on him at all times. He sat down opposite the younger man and remained completely still, watching him.

Norrington glanced at the beaker and up at Jack's face. After a few minutes he moved from a sitting position to a crouch, his eyes still flicking to Jack's face and away. Jack didn't move, watching his inner struggle. Norrington cautiously moved forwards a couple of steps on his hands and knees, his movements jerky and hesitant due to his stiff sore limbs, tense as if he expected a blow at any time. Eventually he reached the cup and snatched it, hurriedly backing away, crying out as his back met the wall. Jack's eyes narrowed- there must be terrible wounds there. Norrington lifted the cup to his lips and began to gulp desperately at the liquid, choking as he tried to force it down his abused throat.

Jack sighed inwardly as he took in the wretched state of the man who was once his enemy. Despite a burning thirst, it had taken several minutes for him to work up the courage to take the gift offered. And this was the man who would have thought nothing of facing down an enemy with men and arms vastly superior to his own.

Jack's inner monologue was interrupted by the clatter of the beaker as it fell from Norrington's fingers. The young man's eyes were drooping and his limbs were relaxing as the drug took hold. Jack frowned. His system must have been more weakened than he had first thought for the sleeping draught to take effect so quickly.

He hurried forwards to catch Norrington as he fell forwards, already deeply asleep. He would not feel any pain from Jack's treatment of his wounds. Jack called to Anamaria. As she entered he said, "We need to get him onto the bed so I can properly clean and dress his wounds."

Anamaria placed her load on the edge of the large table near the window of the cabin and sighed. "That a good idea? He's a bloody mess, Cap'n."

Despite the callous tone of the she-pirates voice, Jack could see the pity in his friend's face. And he could see the logic of the statement. It was better that Norrington be treated before he was left to sleep in the bed. Together, he and Anamaria carefully lifted the limp body up onto the table. He hesitated, then sent her off to get some pails of water. As she left, he began to peel away the rags that hung from Norrington's form. And gasped in horror.

It was far more serious than he had thought. Blood and muck his body. Little white flesh could be seen- just a mass of semi-congealed filth. There was a ragged gaping wound down Norrington's left side- twin to the scar on Jack's left side. Rayark always liked to leave his mark. The pale chest was bruised and sore looking. The skin underneath the cruel spiked manacles was red and raw. Jack forced his hands to stop trembling and pulled a thin wire lockpick from his pocket, working hurriedly to remove the iron. Each shackle fell with a heavy thunk to the wooden floor.

As the last fell to the floor, Anamaria entered the cabin, carrying two large vessels full of water, staggering a little under the load. She placed them next to the table and joined Jack. Her hand flew to he mouth and she instinctively reached out towards the inert body. She stopped herself and turned to face Jack. "I heated it in the galley," she said quietly, meaning the salt water. "Better warm than cold, Cap'n. And its seawater, for the infection"

Jack nodded and grabbed a cloth from the pile at the end of the table. He dipped it in the water and carefully began to scrub at the mass of blood and grime, quickly joined by Anamaria. They worked in silence, occasional gasps escaping them at the nature of the injuries. The worst was yet to come.

Jack dropped his soiled cloth into the first pail and looked again at the Commodore. Even when thoroughly cleaned, the wounds were still distressing to look at. He could see that infection had already set into the huge gash. Little of the flesh was not bruised or broken. Prominently, dark finger shaped bruises marred the pale skin at the hips and shoulders. Jack hated to think what tortures had caused them.

He quickly rubbed salve into the wounds and dressed them. The Ana-Maria took hold of the still form and gently turned him over onto his front. She stepped back from the table in shock at what was revealed and turned her eyes away. Jack felt himself go numb. Whip marks. Whip marks from malicious and repeated floggings, the deep vicious slashes of the cat o' nine tails, the hefty bruises from a knotted rope end, thin gashes from a whippy birch rod, great rents in the skin. Norrington's shoulders were a mass of raw open flesh. He had been flogged within an inch of his life, whipped again and again and again. What man would not have broken?

Hesitantly, Jack dipped his cloth into the bucket and reached towards the cuts. He tried to empty his mind, breathing slowly, working methodically, being as gentle as possible. Ana-Maria joined him. When the gashes were clean, Jack carefully repeated the binding process, pouring the ointment onto the wounds, praying it would prevent infection. The flesh was extremely hot and swollen around the marks, a bad sign. Jack fought to keep his ministrations as gentle as possible, keeping his mind free of thought.

With all of the wounds cleaned and hidden under the dressings, Jack stepped back from the table. He hurriedly found a white nightshirt from amongst the clutter of the room and manoeuvred the Commodore into it with Ana-Maria's help. That done, they gently transferred the peacefully slumbering form to the big comfortable bed.

Ignoring the mess on and around the table, Jack calmly walked out of the cabin, not caring whether Ana-Maria followed him or not. Mechanically, he made his way to the mainmast and clambered up the rigging to the yardarm. There he sat, his hands clutching the wood convulsively, and broke.

He clenched his eyes shut and began to rock backwards and forwards as tears spilled from his eyes, fighting to remain silent as memories washed over him.

Foul hands running over his flesh, bruising him, marking him, claiming him. A high evil laugh. A whip. _Don't hurt me, please, I'll be good, I promise, please._ False entreaties of love. Ropes. Manacles. Hands, stroking his skin. Lips, a putrid mouth on his. **Mine. You're mine. Don't try to run, Jackie-boy.** _Please Sebastian, don't hurt me, I'll be good._** You bastard whore. You think I wouldn't notice how he looked at you? You're mine, you're my whore. I'll kill him, you're precious lover.**_ No, not Thomas! No, please, I'll do anything!_

Thomas. His brave, beautiful Thomas. His courageous lover. Oh Thomas, I'm so sorry. Jack Sparrow opened his eyes and looked out at the sea, feeling the wind playing through his plaited hair. He felt the familiar hum of the _Pearl_'s timbers as she tried to comfort him. That bastard Rayark. He wouldn't let him take another soul. He would save James Richard Norrington, no matter how hard that would be. He would do it for Thomas, who he had failed so badly.

Oh, Thomas.

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For those of you who want the full story of Thomas and Jack, don't worry, it will come later. I promise. 


	5. Awakened

Disclaimer- I do not own PotC

Thank you kind reviewers: BlackJackSilver (I appreciate your patience with the torture!), Oneiriad (perhaps this chapter will require no Kleenex? I know not. Apologies), ellennar (fear not, Thomas will be explained at a later time!) Angela (don't we all hate 'the pirate'?), LadyBush (don't worry, yours is disturbing enough!), elfgirl (much love!), spi (yes, you did spell it wrong.) and mssparrington (x4. You go girl! Thank you!)

You wanted a lighter chapter, here it is. There will still be darker ones but you were all right, of course. So a little break from the torture.

* * *

A new day. A fresh day. In the cold cleansing light of a clear dawn, Jack smiled- a full, glinting golden smile. Today was for a new beginning. 

He swaggered across the deck and ducked into the semi-dark of his cabin. In the bed, deeply asleep, lay Norrington. The drug-induced slumber eased away the lines of fear and pain on the pale face. Jack moved quietly to perch on the edge of the bed next to him. Dark-chocolate hair, slightly longer than shoulder length, was fanned out over the pillow. The Commodore's body was twisted away from Jack but his head was facing the pirate. Instinctively, Jack reached out to brush soft rebellious strands away from Norrington's face. So this was the man that lay beneath.

Relaxed and serene, a face that held no cares or worries for the first time since Jack had first met the Commodore. He was undoubtedly handsome, Jack mused. He had a strong masculine face, but there was something indefinably tender and refined there- a gentleness that the release of sleep revealed. The spirit of a poet or musician dwelt in that face- broken by suffering, he would be healed. Jack let his hand rest on the pale skin of Norrington's face. Yes, today was for a new beginning.

It was then that the peaceful countenance began to change. Norrington's face creased slightly and he curled up into a ball on his side, turning his face away from Jack to bury it in the covers. Concerned, Jack moved closer to him and paused, hesitant. The Commodore's limbs were quaking and sweat was forming on his forehead and upper lip- he was letting out tiny animalistic whimpers of anguish. Jack hesitated a moment longer then, unable to sit and do nothing, reached out to place a hand on the quivering shoulder, avoiding the bandaged flesh. Norrington flinched away- even in sleep he was fearful of contact. Undeterred, Jack replaced his hand and stroked soothingly, uttering crooning comforting nonsense.

Gradually, little by little, Norrington relaxed. The shaking in his limbs stilled and he uncurled, turning slightly on the bed towards Jack and his comfort. The pirate grinned- it was a small action, but it was one nightmare soothed, one horror overcome. He saw that the other man's eyelids were beginning to quiver, his breathing heightening. He was waking up. Jack steeled himself for any reaction Norrington would have. He tried to make his posture as open and unthreatening as possible.

* * *

The Commodore's eyes opened. Blearily blinking away the last remnants of sleep, he tried to appraise his situation- this place he'd been brought to was so different, so strange compared to before. He didn't understand- his last memory was…drinking? A cup of water…drowsiness taking over him as his new master came closer…But why did he feel so warm and comfortable? The terrible burning itching ache of his wounds had faded, the pain so much lessened that he could move without that sharp agony. Was this some sort of new torture- what did his new master plan to do with him?

This thought made him glance around anxiously. He gasped as he realised his proximity to the man who had taken him from the other place. Immediately cursing himself for making a sound, he froze and shut his eyes, praying he wouldn't be punished. Nothing happened. He cracked open a lid to see the new master sigh and stand, walking away from the…bed, yes he was in the bed. Norrington carefully moved to sit up against the headboard, moving slowly so he would not attract attention. He kept his gaze fixed on the smaller figure that seemed to be collecting something from the other side of the cabin.

The other man returned and placed something on the bed between them. Backed up away from him, as far away as possible, Norrington dared to glance down. It was a plate of fruit. Despite a gnawing hunger, he remained perfectly still. He knew this game- the new master was placing what he most desperately wanted right in front of him. As soon as he went to take something, he would be punished.

* * *

Jack sighed again at the fear in Norrington's eyes and his refusal to move. Nonchalantly, pretending to ignore the other man, he selected a peach from the plate and began to munch on it, his movements slow and deliberate. Maybe is he showed Norrington he would not be harmed, the man would be more confident around him. 

He watched as Norrington tentatively stretched a hand towards the plate. He shifted his position on the bed and cursed under his breath as the Commodore jumped backwards. Seething inwardly, he forced himself to still and relax again, hoping the other man would regain his courage.

A minute passed. Jack started again on the peach. A few more seconds elapsed. Then, the hand slowly snaked towards the plate again. It hovered uncertainly over the fruit and Jack watched surreptitiously as long fingers grazed the skin of a second peach. He held his breath. Norrington paused for a moment longer then the fingers lunged down to wrap around the smooth green skin of an apple. The pirate forced himself to eat calmly as Norrington withdrew the fruit and cradled it. Choice, individuality and preference- James Norrington was in there, scared and shaken, but there

* * *

.  
Norrington sat perfectly still once again, a little disbelieving. He was not being punished! But he didn't know if he'd done wrong yet- the new master hadn't reacted to his tiny defiance. Maybe he simply hadn't noticed. Hoping he would continue to go unnoticed, he raised the apple to his mouth and rested it against his lips. Though hunger still slashed at his stomach, he couldn't face placing something in his mouth just yet. He allowed himself just to hold his prize. 

Suddenly, the new master moved. Norrington automatically brought his knees up and curled into a defensive position. There was a flash of sliver as a dagger was drawn. He cringed away, dropping the apple to shield his face. So he was to be punished! Though he knew it was useless to cry out, he let out a little whimper- not that, please not that!

The expected pain did not come. Norrington cautiously opened his eyes and pulled his hands away from is face, uncurling slightly to look at the other man. His master was delicately slicing the apple in to segments. The fruit was placed next to him and a soft voice said, "It's alright. You can eat it." The dagger was sheathed.

Still a little agitated, not quite understanding how or why, Norrington picked up one of the fruit pieces, keeping a nervous watch on the enigma that was his new master. He lifted the fruit to his mouth and ate.

* * *

Jack grinned. He was right- today was for a new beginning. 


	6. Held and Guided

My computer was recently wiped, the hardware shot to hell, and we have had to buy a new system. Grrrr. All work was lost, and I am sure all writers will know how heart-breaking that can be. I can only offer my sincerest apologies and remind my faithful readers that my updates have always and will always be sporadic. I suck at updating and I know it.

Anyhoo, as ever, I thank: Oneiriad, LadyBush, Kawaii Thief Kitsune, pendraginink, ellennar, LadyJanelly, Red Stokcings, Sarah, elfgirl, mssparrington, RangerGirl, Gnat Girl (x4) and Sue-AnneSparrow

Disclaimer: I do not own PotC

Dedication: Mon CuddleSlut favori

The night after the day before…ish

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Silent as the footsteps of a forest god, the _Black Pearl_ cut through the still waters on its course for Tortuga. Moonlight, purer than the opalescent beauty it mirrored, danced upon the tranquil waves, running lingering fingers across each rising swell. The black timbers of the wraithlike ship seemed to absorb the glow, as if drinking in the elemental energy of the primeval night. 

It is on nights like these when lovers lie long in passionate thoughts and dreamers walk through the far away places to be found on the surface of every star.

It is on nights like this when the turmoil of swirling fragments that is the memory crystallises in a time of ultimate spiritual clarity.

Jack was sleeping when the unearthly scream cut through the sacred calm of the night. He bolted upright, his hand automatically closing on his sword. He looked around wildly, trying to work out where he was, what had happened. He looked across the cabin and froze in horror. Norrington was sat, shaking violently, his hands clenched tightly over his face as ragged gasping sobs tore through him. Jack swore and hurriedly stumbled over to the helpless figure, dropping his sword to the floor with an unnaturally loud clang.

Unthinking, he did the first thing instinct told him to do- he wrapped his arms around the abused form and held on tight, an anchor against the rising tide of dread that seemed to sweeping over the tall form, a safe harbour for the beleaguered and the lost. Norrington continued to shake in his grip, not even flinching from his touch or crying out, just crying and crying as if his soul was being wrenched in two.

Dimly, Jack was aware of commotion outside the cabin and voices calling to him, the concerned calls of his crew. The door opened and the voices became louder, then retreated back from the scene. Uncaring, he focused on the man in his arms. Softly, he began to croon nonsense, simple childish things to ease away a nightmare- for that was undoubtedly what it was. Through Norrington's mind, the ghastly form of Sebastian Rayark leered and cackled, his face twisted in grotesque snide pleasure at the tortures he inflicted.

_For we are such things as dreams are made of…_ Jack had no idea where the quotation came from, it was just there, echoing through him as he kept his arms locked around Norrington. Gradually, little by little, the shaking eased and the wracking sobs lessened. Jack tentatively loosened his grip a little, expecting to feel the man tense up at his movement, but he seemed boneless, exhausted and unaware of what was happening around him. Again, Jack cursed Rayark- to lock a person in his own mind, with only his fears and his nightmares to guard him! Truly, the man was Hellspawn, pure evil given shape and form.

There was movement. Jack had expected Norrington to return to sleep, give in to his tiredness, but the limp body began to shift slightly in his embrace. Jack remained still, hoping that the ex-Naval officer wouldn't react too violently to the situation. The dark head turned against his chest and green-grey eyes looked up into dark pools of emotion. Jack held his breath, as the ever-present flickering spark of life seemed to grow under his gaze, flickering brighter. Norrington, for once his face devoid of fear, seemed confused more than anything. Maybe he still believed himself locked in the arms of Morpheus, for he continued to remain quiet and passive in Jack's arms.

Then a hand, gentle and hesitant, reached out to him. Jack gasped as ice-coo; fingers brushed his cheek, as if trying to feel if he was really there, or just some strange spectre in the feral mood of the night. The fingers ghosted across the golden skin of his face, then fell to his right arm. His sleeve was pushed back, the movements slow and trance-like, to reveal the brands on his arm. Their gazes locked again and Norrington's brow furrowed as he sought for the memory that eluded him in the twisting turmoil o his abused mind.

Jack dared not move, dared not disturb the other man. Whatever it was that was affecting Norrington, it seemed to be triggering something in his mind, another step towards his rediscovery of self. Norrington drew his slender fingers in to clench into a fist at his chest and the loose limbed form suddenly drew up into a curled, defensive position. Still their eyes remained locked.

Norrington's face was still strangely empty as he opened his mouth, pausing for a few moments before uttering the first words he had even attempted since the time Jack had first saw him beaten and chained in Rayark's cabin. At first, no sound emerged from his lips, the action of speaking obviously unfamiliar to him.

"A compass," he said, his dark chocolate tones now croaky and hoarse with disuse. "A compass that doesn't point North."

Then he fainted away.


End file.
